Most writers know that it can be difficult to say goodbye to a character they have written. Below are some musings I played with while I was trying to shift my character IRIS. And she haunts me yet, and as Emily Dickinson knew, you don't have to be a house or a room to be haunted.
The First Letter
Dear Iris,
I feel I have come to know you well, in these last years of our relationship. Would you call it a relationship? I would. But I’m not sure how I would describe you. You are more to me than just a character. Are you a ghost? My ghost, my haunting? If you are, then hello, my ghost. And goodbye, because I have written you now, and you will have to leave.
Will I miss you? Yes, I think so. But we have to part, you and I, our time together is done. I wonder how long have you been with me? All my life, perhaps, sitting on my shoulder, like an incubus. Perhaps you were even closer. Maybe you were inside me all along and I just had to write you out.
You are on the page now, there for the world to know. I don’t think you will bother me again. If I could wish you anything Iris, I would wish you peace, because you too have your ghosts, your hauntings. I hope they will leave you now, as you will leave me and that the words that have created ‘Hard Seed’ will put an end to the silence that appears to have cursed you. Maybe you have heard the Mexican proverb ‘They tried to bury us, they didn’t know we were seeds.’ I have been in you, I think as much as you have been in me. Perhaps there is such a thing as a ghost within a ghost.
Farewell Iris. Rest in Peace.
Sincerely,
M.
The Second Letter
Dear Iris,
I see that I am going to have trouble shifting you. It’s almost as if I dreamt you and then wrote you while I was dreaming. I am reminded of Edgar Allen ‘is all that we see or seem/but a dream within a dream?’
I know when I was writing your novel I spent a great deal of time looking out the window. People probably thought I was day dreaming. In a way, I think I was. Did I dream you, Iris?
Please fade away Iris. You are a burden now. I feel your weight. I am weary of you.
Sincerely,
M.
Dream Journal
Saturday
3:13am. Lavender scent. A woman with long grey hair stands in front of a mirror, her back to me. She turns around and looks at me. Her face is my face. ‘You should have left me alone’ she says.
8:30am. So glad it is Saturday. Staying in bed for a while with coffee, but I am finding this small bedroom so claustrophobic. Iris is still here. It’s almost as if there is something she hasn’t said or is there is something I haven’t said for her? Something that I need to dream for her? Sometimes I feel as if the entire work of fiction is something outside of me. It’s almost as if I wrote a dream while I was dreaming.
The First Letter
Dear Iris,
I feel I have come to know you well, in these last years of our relationship. Would you call it a relationship? I would. But I’m not sure how I would describe you. You are more to me than just a character. Are you a ghost? My ghost, my haunting? If you are, then hello, my ghost. And goodbye, because I have written you now, and you will have to leave.
Will I miss you? Yes, I think so. But we have to part, you and I, our time together is done. I wonder how long have you been with me? All my life, perhaps, sitting on my shoulder, like an incubus. Perhaps you were even closer. Maybe you were inside me all along and I just had to write you out.
You are on the page now, there for the world to know. I don’t think you will bother me again. If I could wish you anything Iris, I would wish you peace, because you too have your ghosts, your hauntings. I hope they will leave you now, as you will leave me and that the words that have created ‘Hard Seed’ will put an end to the silence that appears to have cursed you. Maybe you have heard the Mexican proverb ‘They tried to bury us, they didn’t know we were seeds.’ I have been in you, I think as much as you have been in me. Perhaps there is such a thing as a ghost within a ghost.
Farewell Iris. Rest in Peace.
Sincerely,
M.
The Second Letter
Dear Iris,
I see that I am going to have trouble shifting you. It’s almost as if I dreamt you and then wrote you while I was dreaming. I am reminded of Edgar Allen ‘is all that we see or seem/but a dream within a dream?’
I know when I was writing your novel I spent a great deal of time looking out the window. People probably thought I was day dreaming. In a way, I think I was. Did I dream you, Iris?
Please fade away Iris. You are a burden now. I feel your weight. I am weary of you.
Sincerely,
M.
Dream Journal
Saturday
3:13am. Lavender scent. A woman with long grey hair stands in front of a mirror, her back to me. She turns around and looks at me. Her face is my face. ‘You should have left me alone’ she says.
8:30am. So glad it is Saturday. Staying in bed for a while with coffee, but I am finding this small bedroom so claustrophobic. Iris is still here. It’s almost as if there is something she hasn’t said or is there is something I haven’t said for her? Something that I need to dream for her? Sometimes I feel as if the entire work of fiction is something outside of me. It’s almost as if I wrote a dream while I was dreaming.
